Sit Down Stand Up
by Altra
Summary: Post Hogwarts Draco with a bit of angst over a lost love, but nothing to surpy, I promise you Done to Radiohead's "Punchdrunk lovesick singalong"


  
  


A/N: I've not written anything for such a long time! Leave it to Radiohead to bust me out of the writer's block.  
The song in "Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong" by Radiohead; Harry Potter and related characters and shiznit belongs to JK Rowling.  
In case you're wondering, this story was written whilst listening to Hail to the Thief by Radiohead [on repeat].  


_I wrapped you inside my coat  
When they came to firebomb the house  
I didn't feel pain, 'cause no-one can touch me  
Now that I'm held in your spell_  
I'm not one for conflict or any of that nonsense. I'm not one to argue over something insignificant. Hell, half the time I won't fight for something that needs to be fought for. It just doesn't seem worth the let down, you know? That let down I know will be there.  
  
Of course, it's easier to play 'dress up' so to speak at a boarding school. It's easier to be someone you'll never have the balls to be in real life. So I was, what the hell, you know? Anyway, the first person I ever really cared for outside of my family was Pansy. She was the first, and she'll probably be the last in the long run. At first, of course it was pure attraction. Now... now it's like she's the sister I wish I'd had. She was the one I told my mum I'd marry when I was six.   
  
When I was sixteen, I started caring for a girl in another house. She was perfect to me, probably the one I actually would have married. But she died, died a horrible death and I'm sorry to say it was because of me. I can't forgive myself for that. Ever. Obviously, I can't be with her now, even though a very large part of me will always love her.  
  
There have been random women since then, but none of have ever matched the first. I've never felt the same desire to save them as I did her. Of course, I'll probably never let myself feel that way again, I don't want to be my own undoing.   
  
And of course, I'm thinking of all this as a pretty little red head is screaming the worst kind of obscenities at me in the middle of downtown muggle London. I cocked my head to the side, plunging my hands further into the pockets of my heavy over coat.   
  
She was ranting. Oh yeah. I wasn't really hearing her though, even though she really was yelling. I couldn't really discern her voice from the biting chill of the winter air, or the sounds of old clunker cars driving past. She was just so alive in that instant, I almost wanted to kill her, just to be sure she was really living. She had that look, you know? That look that she wasn't quite living, but she wasn't quite dead. Like she was caught between the two, and wasn't entirely happy with her current situation, but neither side looked better.   
  
I'm not really sure when she started following me around dirty old London. But she sure was persistent, I wouldn't say I was in the safest part of the city. I'd been down their to sell, maybe to buy. Nothing major, just a little something for the pain. She thought I was down their to kill.   
  
"Malfoy!" she screamed at me, finally aware that my blank stare was not a tribute to the stupidity she thought was essentially me.   


  
  


_A beautiful girl   
A beautiful girl   
Can turn your world into dust   
_  
  
I turned away from her, deciding that perhaps if I continued walking in silence, she would decide I wasn't worth her time or energy.  
  
"How dare you walk away from me!" she screamed, as though I had committed a horrible crime against her. Grabbing my wrist, she yanked me back with all of her might. Glaring straight into my eyes, she made sure I heard her next words.  
  
"Why," she began, shifting the grip on my wrist to one of frustrating power. "Why did think it would _ever_ be okay to call Hermione those things?"  
  
Hermione. The mudblood, that's right. I ran into her while trying to escape from the Ministry's building. That's right, they were trying to pin point my exact location at the time of another Black Magic gathering. I mulled this over, all the while unaware of the show the Weasley was getting. She saw my face take on a look of recognition.   
  
"Why'd you do it to her?" Her tone was so accusatory, that it seemed as though if I said anything that wasn't vulgar or distasteful that she wouldn't believe me. For the hell of it, I decided not to comply.  
  
"Perhaps it was the implications in her voice. Maybe it was the accusations, or the sheer pigheaded belief that because I was in a certain house in secondary school that I was nothing but a liar and a cheat. Sorry. Didn't think it really mattered much if I retaliated or not."   
  
That was definitely not what she wanted to hear.  
  
"Bull shit, Malfoy! Hermione did nothing to deserve that!" I sighed, pulling my self free from her.  
  
"If you don't want to listen to my answers then don't ask me questions Weasley." I set off walking again when she mentioned the one thing that never failed to infuriate me.  
  
"You know what Malfoy, I think you actually were there when they killed her."  
  
I stopped dead in my tracks. I could feel my blood beginning to boil, by fists clenching and my throat constricting. It was as though all of my emotions were battling for dominance over me at once. I felt inconsolable sadness, maddening rage, self pity, sheer bliss, love, shame, and frustration. My body was no longer mine to control, and the little Weasley found out maybe a second after I did.  
  
I turned slowly, and flowed back over to her, stopping nigh an inch from her. She tilted her head up to me, and in her eyes, behind all of those "convictions" I saw fear. I felt exalted at that moment.   
  
"I would never kill her. _Never._ She was my life, my soul. Everything that I am, I am because of her. I was nothing before, and have been nothing since. That you would dare to think- to imply that I had _anything_ to do with her death is something I cannot forgive, nor will I ever pretend to. Who do you think you are, Weasley? _Who do you think you are?"_ I hissed at her, feeling her breaths coming shorter and faster. Her body was shaking and her eyes were consumed by that fear. It was intoxicating, and at the same time, I felt that fatal power which her eyes would always hold over me.   
  
She opened her mouth, but only a strangled sort of sob came forth. Her own voice had deserted her. I smiled softly to myself, feeling the very cynicism that motion had.  
  
"Though it has been years Weasley, _years,_ I still find it disgusting that you people think it is fair to mention Cho to me in such a way." This time, I turned and walked away for good.   
  
"Mal...Malfoy!" she cried, but I ignored her, pulling my shoulders back and holding my head high as I walked from the building and onto the streets.  


  
  


__

Sell me a car that goes  
Sell me a house that stands   
I never cared before, I never cared before   
I never cared before, before, before, before  
  
  
It was maybe a week later when I was found by the Weasley again. I was in a meeting with Dumbledore at The Golden Sparrow, a little known wizarding bar on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. Dumbledore had just left me, when the tiny red head swept into his seat as I finished the last of my whiskey.  
  
"We need to talk," she began, but I held my hand up. Downing the last of my drink, I put the mug back on the table and threw a couple coins down.  
  
"No, we most certainly do not." Again, she grabbed my wrist as I moved to stand up.  
  
"Please."  
  
I honestly don't know what possessed me to stay, but I did. The bartender gave a grunt as he walked past. I motioned to my drink and he nodded.   
  
"Talk," I said, holding onto the empty mug.  
  
"I'm sorry!" she blurted out. Her face was burning with embarrassment and shame.   
  
"All right."  
  
"No, no, you don't understand! I had no right to say any of those things to you! I knew how you felt about her, and it was a cheap shot, Malfoy. I swear, I didn't believe it." I sighed, and the bartender came by with my drink. We exchanged mugs and I took a gulp.  
  
"Weasley, if you hadn't meant it, you wouldn't have said it. I'm not blaming you; if I had been in your shoes, than I probably would have believed that too. Are we done talking?"   
  
"No." She was so firm with her words, but her eyes always appeared to be so unsure of themselves at the same time. I sighed, feeling that I was abusing the action.  
  
"Well?" She looked down to her hands. I scooted the mug across to her. She took a sip without even realizing it, before cupping the mug in her own hands.  
  
"I feel as though you're letting me off to easily, Malfoy. I've done nothing but give such a half-assed apology, and you're acting as though nothing has happened."  
  
"Would you like me to scream at you?" She laughed, and I found myself smiling as well.  
  
"God no! I think that would simply serve to set me off with another string of things I don't believe. It's just-" she stopped. "I feel-so ashamed now. So ashamed. It's like I can't show my face to anyone because I did something so awful to someone who didn't deserve it. It's not that I hate you Malfoy, I simply dislike you, but I've always thought that I was above those petty fights Ron's always having with you. And here I am, initiating the whole thing, being the sole party, and essentially fighting with myself. A losing battle I assure you. I just-" she stopped again, and this time did not resume.  
  
"It seems to me as though you're having a problem with yourself, Weasley." Her head shot up and I found myself staring into accusing eyes again. "I didn't mean that snidely; it just seems as though your problem is one with yourself and your expectations. Terribly sorry that you can't take it all out on me."  
  
"No... no that's not it, Malfoy. I guess this entire conversation has just been me beating around the bush."  
  
"By all means, take it out on the bush."  
  
"Cho."  
  
I reeled back as though she had struck me. She pushed the mug back over to me and I gulped at it as though it were my air. I finally set the mug down, empty, and stared into Weasley's eyes.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Cho. I...I'd like to know...about...well..."  
  
"There is no way for me to explain her."  
  
"Um, how did you two meet then?"  
  
"Quidditch."  
  
"Oh."  
  
The conversation effectively died. I was feeling anxious about actually sharing anything I felt about her, and Weasley was feeling uncomfortable about asking me personal questions.  
  
"Look," I began, leaning forward over the table. "Cho was someone I will always care for, Weasley. She was my first love, I guess you could say, and she died young and because of me. I've not even thought about having a relationship since then, and quite frankly I don't think it will ever happen. Too much of me died with her."   
  
Weasley was silent, saying nothing. Her silence, however, was a relief from the incessant 'I'm so sorry!' that I faced after her death.   
  
"I should go," she said after a long while. I simply nodded my head once. I heard her stand and leave.   
  
"Weasley," I called. I heard her stop. I didn't dare turn around though, to see if she did. "You're not nearly crude as you give yourself credit for."   
  
I felt her smile.  


  
  


__

A beautiful girl   
A beautiful girl   
Can turn your world into dust  
  
  
"Aha!" In triumph, I ran a hand through my hair and grinned at the large cardboard box. Immediately I pulled the box cutter from my pocket and sliced the plastic tape. With great enthusiasm, that which I hadn't felt in such a long time, I threw the sides of the box back.  
  
Cho's face smiled up at me. A second later, I dove into the frame, leaping onto her back with the goofiest smile. We laughed, and she pulled me into a kiss. I smiled to myself, almost mesmerized by the image. Breaking contact with the picture, I placed it aside. Next up were the dried petals of the rose I gave her on our first date. Her family had made this box of items of our relationship and gave them to me. They understood how it wasn't my fault. How they managed that I'll never understand because for a very long time I blamed myself.  
  
As I went through the box, feeling my past merging with my present. The further I delved into the box, the further into my soul it seemed I went. Down, down, down, past the depths of my hatred, past my jealousies, past my insecurities, and down to my truths.  
  
All of my most potent emotions could be found within the box. Of course, I ignored the most powerful of all.  
  
That feeling of sheer emptiness when I held her lifeless body had yet to hit me.  


  
  


_A beautiful girl   
A beautiful girl   
Can turn your world into dust  
_  
  
I spent the next four days in a kind of turmoil, churning through each item in the box and reliving each memory it gave me. I hadn't gone through the box before; I'd never the reason to. Weasley had opened my eyes to the fact that I truly hadn't tried to seen the beauty of what I had with Cho, for I had been to afraid of the pain I had felt.   
  
In the box, I found my closure. I found my truth.  
  
That was, Cho did not die _for_ me or _because_ of me. It was simply horrible circumstances. She was there when Voldemort had come to take me to become a Death Eater, a event unbeknownst to either of us. He assumed she was a threat and killed her, without either one of us having a chance to react.   
  
There is no doubt that a part of me will always love her, but there is also no doubt in me now that I will move on. I know that life alone is vicious, and is not something Cho would have wished. I know for a fact I wouldn't have wished it on her. Of course, I'd be very judgmental of anyone who thought they were good enough for her, but that's a different story.  
  
I'd been forced to build my life again from the ground up, and the truth was, I never got past the first story until I had that conversation with Ginny.  
  
On the surface, it was nothing. But underneath, it made me realize how I had never truly appreciated what Cho and I had. Everything to me was her death, and the misery, and the depression. I had forgotten the very essence of what she was. Now that I had it back, I could move on, with the memory and the feelings.  
  
"Malfoy?" I looked up from my position on the floor of my attic. I had turned the room into a reminder of my childhood. Everything from my first broom to the picture of yself and Cho was there. And now Ginny Weasley was as well.  
  
"How'd you get in here?" I asked.   
  
"Door was open. Dropped by to see if you wanted to catch a spot of tea, perhaps a movie or something." I waved her in, patting the ground beside me. She sat, and I handed her the photo album I had in my lap.   
  
"This is Cho," I said. She took it with a smile. Together we examined every picture, laughing, smiling, a few moments of banter, but it was a lighthearted experience I never expected to have with Weasley.   
  
For some reason, I was more at ease with her than I had ever thought possible. She wasn't all that uptight either. I think we might have found a median, were the two of us could get along. I didn't even bother asking how she found my house. It was located in the middle of the muggle London suburbs. However she knew, it was fine with me.  
  
She turned the page to the last one, where the petals were, arranged in a circle around a picture of Cho smiling happily. It was a muggle photo, and didn't move, somehow captivating that which Cho was and would forever be. Her eyes lingered on this page longer than it did the others, and I noted with some surprise the tears in her eyes.  
  
"Weasley?" I asked. She shut the book and shook her head slightly.   
  
"It's nothing Malfoy."  
  
She looked up into my eyes, and I knew that it wasn't nothing, but rather a very real something.  
  
"Wea-"  
  
"Draco, it's nothing, I promise. Now let's go get that tea."  
  
It didn't occur to me until later that night that she had used my name that one time in my entire time knowing her. I rolled over onto my side, and saw Cho's face smiling at me from the photo besides my bedside. I felt a slight grin beginning to pull on my face.  
  
"Perhaps I'm not as desolate as I like to think I am."  


  
  


__

I stood in front of her face  
When the first bullet was shot  


*** 

I hope someone got what I was trying to say.  



End file.
